


Ovid of Westminster

by TheCrazyGeek



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 23:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1960467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrazyGeek/pseuds/TheCrazyGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm Tucker's political mind even extends to his sex life. A very short one-shot piece</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ovid of Westminster

 

 

 

_Trust me, love’s pleasure’s not to be hurried,_

_but to be felt enticingly with lingering delays._

_When you’ve reached the place, where a girl loves to be touched,_

_don’t let modesty prevent you touching her._

_You’ll see her eyes flickering with tremulous brightness,_

_as sunlight often flashes from running water._

_Moans and loving murmurs will arise,_

_and sweet sighs, and playful and fitting words._

_But don’t desert your mistress by cramming on more sail,_

_or let her overtake you in your race:_

_hasten to the goal together: that’s the fullness of pleasure,_

_when man and woman lie there equally spent._

  * _Ovid. Ars Amatoria. Book 2 Part XIX_




 

 

Malcolm Tucker, feared lord of Westminster and 4 times Scottish Champion of creative swearing, sat back in his expensive leather seat and read the note with a degree of amusement.

 

Shagging for pleasure was, of course, a fun hobby but with the kind of working hours he and his staff had to put in, it could kill most long-term relationships. Both he and Jamie had failed marriages behind them and he suspected that Nicola would soon be heading to a divorce lawyer.

 

_Especially if I've got anything to say about it. Fucking useless chinless bent twat of a man._

 

So a lot of them had to resort to mixing work with sex if they ever wanted to get a leg over, which meant either using it to get a bit of insider dirt on a member of their party or-

 

-sleeping with the enemy.

 

Malcolm regarded most of the Opposition with the same kind of respect as he would a member of the National Front: all racists and homophobes content to boot the common worker up the arse. It hadn't stopped him dispatching Eoghan, a very handsome and fucking evil member of the Caledonian Mafia, to their favourite hangouts in order to seduce one young female member of their rivals. Eoghan though reported back the next morning that the young lady concerned preferred her men a) skinnier and b) older and that she had someone else in mind.

 

He'd nearly fallen off his chair when he'd heard that the young lass mentioned possibly getting a date with him. Malcolm F Tucker. A man old enough to be her father.

 

Still, he hadn't got to where he was today by passing up an opportunity, and so he chose a neutral restaurant and took the lady out for dinner. Dinner which went rather well, with a goodbye kiss morphing into something far more savage and primal – she'd practically taken his lips clean off his face.

 

Then she invited him into her flat and held him close on her bed as he kissed and caressed her shapely form and moaned his name when he brought her to climax with just his fingers. He held off sliding himself into her hot depths and promised it 'for next time' and when they exchanged numbers he realised he actually meant it.

 

The poem had landed on his desk the following day. Malcolm sat and read it again and this time he chuckled.

 

_Ahh Ollie Reeder. You weren't enough for Ms Messinger were ye? Bet ye just leapt on her an' started fucking. Bet ye've never even known what foreplay is. And now your recent ex is wrappin' her legs round my shoulders while I give her the tongue-fuckin' of her life._

 

_This, ye chinless twat, is how real politics is done._

 


End file.
